Semaförekompanie
by PotassiumNickelIron
Summary: The Smoking GNU find something better to do with their lives, only to waste it. Pity. Silly Terry Pratchett thing I did thinking about electronic music while reading Guards, Guards! Enjoy. Set Post-Going Postal, Pre-Making Money


**Semaförekompanie**

**a Discworld fanfic**

**by**

**PotassiumNickelIron**

The Smoking GNU, it seemed, had nothing better to do after Adora Belle Dearheart (don't tell her I gave you her full name) had reclaimed the Clacks from Reacher Gilt. Adora being a friend of theirs they didn't dare hack the system any longer. What was a clacker geek to do now they were good?

'Mornin', Al,' "Sane Alex" Carlton muttered as he wandered into the now defunct illegal Clacks outpost being used as some kind of boring room where several unemployed nerds lived. "Mad Al" Winton appeared to be working on several strings and tying them up, pinging them occasionally.

'Shhhhh!' Al replied rather loudly.

'Erm, Al, I was thinking we could go and get some real jo-'

'Shut up, Alex!' Al replied a second time.

'Well what the bloody hell are you doing?' Alex asked indignantly, pulling his bobble hat tighter over his head. 'And where's Adrian?'

'Oh, he's downstairs—'

'Downstairs? Downstairs in the Post Office? I thought we agreed the Post Office was off-limits!'

'Oh no, we asked Lipwig if we could use a backroom and he said "Bugger off, I have work to do."'

Alex sighed. Undecided Adrian and Mad Al were up to something and he didn't know what, which he didn't like, feeling he was the de facto leader of the group. Then again, dorks are like that.

'...OK, what are you using the back room _for_?'

'Oh, you'll see, Alex, you'll see.'

'Al, just bloody tell me, I can't be arsed to mess about.'

'But Alex—it's not done yet.'

'Not done y—what's _it_?'

'Look, come back in an hour and I'll show you _it._'

Alex shoved his hands into his jacket (which was the kind of jacket you'd see on an homeless alcoholic), turned and walked out of the door. There was a massive glaring sunlight. Having a room with only a small hole for light meant that it was like night time in there, requiring 8 candles. Made of executed prisoners' bone marrow Oh, but a paraffin lamp...that used animal fat.

We're a bunch of bloody tramps, he told himself.

When Alex returned, having walked up and down the same street around eighty times (he counted), Al and Adrian were rather nervously standing in front of him with a 'mobile' Clacks tower, capable of sending messages-anywhere! Of course, this one appeared to have either been decommissioned or stolen; Alex desperately hoping it was the former.

'Right, Alex, Adrian and I have been working on this for weeks. I hope you like it,' Al said, sweat able to rival Lee Evans or that guy from _Airplane!_ dripping from his forehead. His hands trembling, he signalled to Adrian to take out one hand, before taking out his own, and...

The next Alex knew, he was hearing the most amazing and unusual sound in the world. He rubbed his eyes to look at what the others were doing. They were pressing the keys rhythmically in a sort of _clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka_ pattern, creating a mechanical-sounding beat. This caused the shutters on the semaphore to open and close at a very quick rate. Al leant forward and began speaking into the shutters.

The rapid opening and closing caused his voice to become distorted, modulating it. The lyrics were bizarre, in some foreign tongue. But they sounded brilliant when put through the machine's shutters. Alex instantly felt himself falling in love with the fantastic music.

'Wow...what do you guys call this stuff?' he asked.

'We call it mechanic music!' Al replied excitedly. 'Did you like it?'

'No, I didn't.' Alex responded. 'I loved it! It's brilliant.'

'Yes...' Al replied. 'But it's missing _something_.'

'I noticed...' Alex replied.

And they set to work.

'And now, introducing a brand new act playing...what the hell? Me...mechanic music? Semaförekompanie, everybody.' The Broken Drum wasn't necessarily the main place you'd go to get a career start but...no, actually, this was pretty crap. Still, the Smoking GNU had become a new band. Semaförekompanie was the new pioneer of mechanic music, a new form of music utilising mechanic technology rather than traditional harps.

With Adrian on 'drums' (that is, the keyboard of the mobile clacks semaphore), Al on vocals, and Alex on 'pingy string things', they created an entire soundscape. The lyrics were surreal and seemingly meaningless without an explanation even in English it still made no sense: 'We Are The Golems' and 'Octavo Magicry, Is Not For The Likes Of You And Me.' Still, the music was an instant success, mainly because nobody knew what the bloody hell was going on and confusion influences the masses.

With the gold just rolling in, Semaförekompanie was fast becoming a popular voice in Discworld music. With a management deal being offered by several people it was all very confusing.

It became even more confusing when Al suggested that they start making a show out of their fame.

Cue running up and down in suits that were painted with octarine paint at the Unseen University-to the band they looked like grey suits, but the wizards enjoyed watching shiny purplish-yellow people running around for no reason.

And it was one of their most amazing shows that would signify their downfall.

The show in question was the Dwarfe-Golem tour. Just before the show, Al was setting up the sights and sounds

'Ready, Al?' Alex asked.

'As I'll ever be,' Al replied.

The show involved lots of snazzy new technology such as stuff that exploded when hit with the right amount of decibels and horses wearing wires that glowed...while roasting the horse alive.

The most amazing thing, however, was the top-secret finale. The finale was supposed to be the most amazing thing ever seen on the Disc. As Alex, Al and Adrian walked outside, they prepared for an exciting experience.

The powder exploded, the horse died. Music was played. Moshpits formed, riots happened, the City Watch was called in, Angua von Überwald had her top ripped off by a member of the crowd, she punched him resulting in a brawl comparable to WWE (though this was actually real and unscripted)... and then came the finale.

It was very normal. All members of the crowd and band came to the front of the stage.

'And now, for the finale!' cried Al, who stepped back along with Alex, leaving Adrian standing there at the front of the stage. Adrian tapped out a beat, climbed up to the vocoder, opened his mouth, and—white then black!

It appeared that the sheer logical inconstistency of Adrian ever talking meant that the universe shattered, taking us back to the start of the story where Alex walked in on Al. Only, this time, it went a bit differently.

Mornin', Al,' "Sane Alex" Carlton muttered as he wandered into the now defunct illegal Clacks outpost being used as some kind of boring room where several unemployed nerds lived. "Mad Al" Winton appeared to be working on several strings and tying them up, pinging them occasionally.

'Shhhhh!' Al replied rather loudly.

'Erm, Al, I was thinking we could go and get some real jo-'

'Shut up, Alex!' Al replied a second time.

'Well what the bloody hell are you doing?' Alex asked indignantly, pulling his bobble hat tighter over his head. 'Can I take a look?'

'No!' cried Al at the top of his voice as Alex touched a delicate knot. The pings were multiple and destructive. The string broke and the frame fell to pieces.

'You BASTARD!' Al shouted. 'I'll kill you!'

Don't worry. He got over it eventually.


End file.
